


Lucy

by Jenry_Morgan



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, F/M, Gen, New York's Finest Ficathon, Police Partnership, Police Procedural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7022638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenry_Morgan/pseuds/Jenry_Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What presses us to face danger is the same thing that makes us run from it. Escape; and though our first reaction is always the latter by nature, in some moments the fear for something greater than the present danger draws us, without a second thought, to challenge fate in all its fury and be freed in its defeat." ~Henry Morgan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perception

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, 
> 
> Another awesome ficathon has already rolled around, but only so by the wonderful, dedicated work put in by our organizers. I am always so happy to see a new batch of Forever stories flood in! 
> 
> This fanfic is a short procedural; I jumped into the plot with the main characters having a bit of history and information with the case, so they're not discovering certain facts, but rather know them already as the present story unfolds. 
> 
> By nature, I write all of my Forever fics through the eyes of Henry Morgan, so it was a bit of a fun challenge with this theme, to keep Henry telling the story, but enough in the background to let New York's Finest Detectives tackle this case. I certainly enjoyed giving it a go! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are much loved as always! Thanks for reading and I look forward to delving into everyone else's! 
> 
> ~Lara

"No! Jo!" I shouted, overpowering her aim at the solid, metal framed, glass door. I'd glanced again at the unmarked police cruiser parked in the drive to the right of the newly built office complex. The back tires were shot through.

"Henry! What is wrong with you?" Jo recoiled sharply, the gun falling from our switching hold to the ground under her feet. "The gun could have fired!"

"If we enter, it could very much end poorly, for either one, or all of us," I truthfully responded. The building's front windows showed no sign of light inside.

"Henry, what do you suggest I do?" Jo asked, though my supposition made her re-consider picking up her gun again. "Mike Hanson is my partner. I've worked with him since my first homicide and God knows, he's been there every time for me. We risk our lives for each other; it's what we do, Henry."

"I know, Jo," I said, my voice soft in an attempt to convince her she had to stop her plan. "But if you want to see your partner alive again, we have to surrender now."

My eyes begged Jo to stand back, though it was no easy feat. Once she, like me, was pressed into determination, any chance of deferring on her target was unthinkable. Still, I had planted the truth of Hanson's life being further endangered if she entered, without backup, by force. Against her will, Jo kicked the gun across the pavement and took a ready stance. Instantly, as if on cue, lights flicked on inside the large building and a white convertible rattled the loose driveway as it crept towards us, headlights blaring into our faces.

We were surrounded.

"Henry, you sure as hell better be right," Jo said through grated teeth. The roof of the car retreated and the driver's door opened.

Hardly able to steady my breath, I tried to conceal the terror in my eyes.

For Jo, for Hanson, but never for me.

 

\---Eight Hours Earlier---

 

"Geez, Doc," Detective Hanson scoffed from behind the wheel of his cruiser. "Is this what Jo puts up with every time you two go out on a case?" He took an oversized bite of the well charred beef burger he'd parked illegally to purchase from a corner vendor before one-handedly steering back into the 6th Avenue traffic.

"Oddly enough, I believe Jo and I have developed a rather strong understanding in our approach of investigation procedures." I overlooked Hanson's doubtful grin from behind his burger.

"Yeah, well I don't think Jo and I will quite merge on that path," he said, staring ahead at the road. "I've always been more than a leg behind her skill of patience."

"Though certainly, you both do share the same keen admiration for New York's disagreeable street food," I remarked, my eyes following a stray piece of salad that escaped the seeded roll from the force of Hanson's bite. It vanished between the front seats, never to be retrieved again.

"Karen doesn't ever know about this." Hanson glanced down at his lunch guiltily as if he were having an affair behind his wife's back instead of over indulging on usually post-work, gym motivational food.

"Oh not to worry, Detective. You've only ten pounds to go before you fall into the risk for elevated cholesterol and blood pressure."

Hanson mumbled something in a low voice and flashed his sirens as the traffic slowly inched aside for him to cut through. He glanced at his watch to judge the time remaining to our lower East side destination. I was certainly attesting to his patience.

************

The old, but well kept, brick apartments we'd at last reached were spruced up with a garden of evenly planted white and purple petunias. Many of the first floor windows, though barred, were open to capture the stray breeze of spring. Switching off the ignition, Detective Hanson clambered out in front of the row, retrieving his bullet proof vest from the trunk and snapping it over his white, striped shirt.

"You're welcome to wait in the car, Doc," he said, but his words were in vain. My determined glare gave him no point in further conversation on the idea. "Ok then, but I'll go in first and I don't have another one of these for you." He pointed at the thick, padded garment covering his chest. "You better watch yourself. Jo might prefer you back in one piece."

I disregarded his cautionary remark again. "Oh I don't need a vest, I doubt a stray bullet will do me any harm."

"Suit yourself," he said plainly. Hanson, who'd taken a hit before, questioned my seeming desire for a life threatening altercation, but didn't voice his concern for my well being aloud anymore.

Locked outside the building, I scanned the name list of residents who lived inside, deciding by making who's acquaintance we were most likely to be let in. Hanson was about to take a try at a Danielle Pauler, who's apartment was just down the hall from Karla Mathis', the woman who's abrupt disappearance had led the NYPD into her search. He'd already laid a hand on the doorbell beside her name, when I pointed him at a man by the name of Carlos Jésan instead.

"Why him?" Hanson asked. "Don't you think a woman would be better charmed by, I don't know, your accent or something?"

"She's also more likely to meet us, two strangers to her, downstairs." I set him right. " However, Carlos, the lonely bachelor in 219, is most certainly desperate for some company watching his native Spanish football team compete in the World Cup. It's being broadcast tonight."

I was one to know; Abraham had been preparing all week for the final match between Spain and Great Britain. Being the son of an Englishman, he civilly supported the playing team. Hanson however, mistook my son's interest in the sport for my own.

Slightly hesitant, Detective Hanson switched his finger to 219. He was about to speak into the grated speaker, when I intervened. "Hello, my clever companion and I live in the building next to yours and he mistakingly detached our football signal." Hanson was offended at my remark, that he, an apparently clever gentleman, had been the one to disrupt our viewing of the game, but I paid him no matter. "May we join you to celebrate the win?"

I persuaded Carlos so assertively that he had no choice of opposing.

"Sure man," Carlos said in an accented, excited voice with almost no hesitation. It never occurred to him how we even knew he was watching the cup. "Our elevators' retired, though. You have to bang on the door a few times to get it awake. Let me get you in."

The buzzer made a coarse sound, like a beetle my assistant M.E. Lucas had once proudly made a show of when he discovered it on his bathroom door. He'd brought the humming, purple striped insect into the morgue and spent his lunch hour watching it bump around the glass jar until it folded its skeletal black legs, and died.

"Just for curiosity, how'd you know what apartment Jésan lived in?" Hanson asked as we climbed the stairs to the third floor. He'd been silent, trying to solve the question himself since we'd fibbed our way inside.

I paused on a step. "There's an antenna clipped to the apartment's windowsill for receiving international tv channel signals. Coupled with the hasty Spanish sport narration spilling from the window and presumably, his being the only name on the resident list to most suit such an interest."

"Jo better be missing you," Hanson sighed as he neared the landing. "She takes one day off and I'm stuck driving around with your show. It's not even a murder. Couldn't you sit this one out, Doc?"

"And leave you at the mercy of Danielle Pauler giving you entry to the building?" I replied. Hanson was silent. "I doubt your gun would convince her you were here for a hospitality visit."

***********

At a door marked with the number 224, we stopped.

"Step back, Doc." Hanson raised his gun. "Karla Mathis? NYPD." He tipped his head when he noticed the door ajar and slowly pushed it open, entering cautiously. Finding the four rooms empty he called me in from the hallway.

"She's gone, that's for sure." Hanson strapped his gun back to his belt as my eyes took in every immediate detail. Already from the entryway, everything was off.

There was always a way about abandon that could instantly be felt. Even the most valuable, cherished things left in place; forgotten. Indecision hung in the air, perhaps even a moment of hesitation, a quickly extinguished thought that what caused such strong justification to flee might be overcome by standing one's ground. No one ever abandoned everything by choice, nor planned to do so. They simply left one day and never returned.

"Hey, Doc," Hanson called me over to the dining table where a smashed cup had spilled milk off the edge. Jagged pieces from two broken plates lay on the counter and floor. Droplets of blood had landed between them.

"This was certainly the scene of a confrontation." I retrieved a set of gloves from my pocket and lifted a blonde hair from a speck of dried blood on the kitchen tile floor. "I believe this is Karla Mathis' blood."

"I'll call in forensics to do a sweep an analysis." Hanson bagged the hair sample and tucked the sealed bag into his pant pocket. "Huh." His attention turned to the dozens of photographs taped to the silver refrigerator. In all of them, a young girl laughed or played in a park, blowing bubbles and watching them land on the sharp bladed grass. In one, she giggled, feeding a giraffe, held up tightly by two strong arms. The floral edges of a tattoo stood out from beneath the jacket sleeves of the man who was holding her. Also in almost all of them, was Karla. Long, blonde hair and captivating green eyes, the girl exactly resembled the woman sitting next to her.

"Daughter?" Hanson plucked one of the photos from the fridge. "It doesn't look like she lived with her mom. There isn't one thing in this apartment that belongs to a kid; no toys or bright crayon scribbled schoolwork."

I tore off another photograph, where standing tall on a chair with a toppling polka dot party hat, the girl blew out a big candle shaped like a '5', poked into a pink cake. "This one was taken here, in front of those windows. Three weeks ago." I pointed at the date stamped on the back. It wasn't the kind of birthday party you usually hosted for you child. There were no guests or stacks of gifts, at least none that the camera captured, but Karla loved her, for she'd taken the time to photograph and keep these memories close.

Searching for something, I continued into Karla's peach wallpapered bedroom. More blood speckled the carpet, but something else caught my attention.

Nearly each dresser drawer was pulled open and rifled through. "All of these drawers are half empty."

"Could it be this was all just a robbery gone wrong?" Hanson mused, flipping through a book on Karla's night table.

"Then where is all the clothes that filled these." I noted the absence of the items usually strew across a room when it was scoured. "No, she was packing to leave." I strode across the bedroom; an open suitcase lay between the open closet doors. "I believe Karla Mathis was running and that somebody stopped her before she managed to escape."

"Mickey Eastwood?" Hanson threw out the name of her former husband, a man who's name became just as quickly attached to Karla's disappearance as his own mysterious dealings with the law. A suit and tie, with a high earning New York City transportation management job did not exclude him from error. He simply had the means to conceal it. 

"There's not enough blood for her to have been killed here, but if I were to guess, we might be looking at homicide. What do you think, Doc?" Hanson asked as I continued to peruse through the disarray of clothes and things.

"Did you not say I should sit this one out, Detective?" I eyed him loftily when his phone suddenly rang.

"It's Jo," Hanson said, plucking the phone from his pocket and answering with a smirk. "Remind me again, Jo, why I agreed to take this smart aleck with me?" Hanson joked, but his grin only lasted the length of his sentence before a face of shock overtook his face. "What?" He listened to Jo in disbelief. "Yeah, we're on our way now." Hanson lowered the phone from his ear slowly and looked at me in discouragement.

Standing up from Karla's half filled suitcase, I prodded him to say something. "Is Jo alright?" I instantly worried for my partner, though I could tell from Hanson's expression that it was not about her. "Is there news on the case?" 

"Well we can rule out Karla's ex-husband," Hanson declared. "Mickey Eastwood's body was just pulled from the Hudson in Jersey."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've just sat down and started writing a story, having no outline, of where it was going next, so frankly, the twists and turns were as much of a surprise to me as any reader.
> 
> Henry and Mike were such fun to pair at a crime scene. They share that competition, where they both want to outwit each other and put together the pieces first. It's a little refreshing for Henry I think, because he loves showing off his sharp skills against someone new-just when Hanson thinks he's put in the last word, Henry's jabs back. I wish we could have seen some more of that partnership between the two of them in the series.
> 
> The case is spiraling now and it looks like Jo's day off didn't work out after all...
> 
> Any guesses to what's coming? I'd love to know how it's playing out for you before you hop to the next chapter...


	2. Stratagem

"This," Jo slapped a familiar picture of a prim, brown haired man down on her desk, "is Mickey Eastwood." A half cup of coffee stood next to her computer. It was still steaming hot, but Jo had downed half of it already. Her hope for a day off a case was far gone, so here she stood, in a green blouse, gun loaded behind the badge on her belt. "With this now a full police operation, we also received these photos of Mickey from a P.I. firm hired independently and also investigating him for fraud. They've been following him for five months and have passed over all their information to us." She handed Hanson and I several surveillance shots each to flip through.

Lunch in the park alone, money withdrawals at midtown bank ATM's, and several formal meetings with leather-briefcased businessmen on stiff, stainless steel chairs in the courtyards of various corporations.

"What is this place?" I asked of a large, panel-windowed building, standing square in an only half constructed lot. Mickey was seen entering through the glass doors a number of times, leaving his white Mercedes convertible in front of them.

"The headquarters of TransTrack International," Jo replied. Already completely involved in this case, she'd gathered nearly everything there was on our now dead suspect, who's unexplained death, now more than ever, connected him to Karla Mathis' whereabouts. "Mickey Eastwood joined the plans for a new multi-billion worldwide subway system two years ago. He was in charge of overseeing the New York lines, but the overseas company he partnered with never existed." The chair next to Jo's desk was covered with false, but convincing pamphlets to the future of TransTrack in this city, but she had made the discovery of just how distorted the company's deceptively clean image was. "This is where he made his mistake. Mickey took the money he was granted for the project anyway and used it to build a large leading office, making it seem like the whole idea was still rolling. He hired a new, close team to work towards something that was never even going to happen."

"Don't you think one of them might have figured out the whole thing was a hoax and killed him?" Hanson asked, but with another jurisdiction's, let alone state's death inquiry, I doubted we'd have any idea to such an answer soon.

"I'll assume we haven't received any post mortem details yet?" I questioned, the anxious expression on my face, perhaps making me appear ready to swim across the Hudson and do the examiner's job for them. Lucas would surely have been in for such a daring venture. He'd boasted to me once on how he'd won a contest in school for holding his breath an entire minute and beaten all the other classmates that volunteered to try.

Jo shook her head. "I pressed the head M.E. in Jersey to forward the autopsy reports as soon as possible. Initially they think it was suicide, especially given the mess Eastwood was about to be exposed for, the dozens of people who were about to learn his project had failed from the start. The M. E. is estimating he died three days ago."

"And as for Karla?" Hanson wondered, putting together the pieces. "There's no way Mickey killed her, she's only been missing less than forty-eight hours."

"Well we know their divorce was definitely not amicable," Jo remarked. "If Mickey was doing bad business five years ago, it was definitely motive for her step out, especially since she seemed to already know her second husband, Jason Mathis pretty well to walk down the aisle with him so soon after."

Reading from a folder labeled in Mathis' name, I noted the newly obtained information about her. "Yes. Karla remarried only two months after the divorce. She and Jason had a little girl."

"That explains the photos." Hanson thought back to the pictures on Karla's refrigerator. "Though Jason isn't in a single one of them. Do we know where he is? They sure weren't living as a family. There wasn't a thing of Jason's at Karla's place either."

I'd scanned ahead through the papers while Hanson was speaking and found the answer. "That's because Jason and Karla divorced seven months ago. Jason now lives in Atlanta, Georgia and gave up all custody of his daughter." It struck me, instantly, how easily those words read, as if there were no hurt or wronging in the matter. "I believe we're now looking for two missing victims, Karla and her little girl. I dare say, with our primary suspect dead, there will be no answers from Mickey." I put down the files on Jo's desk and looked at her nervously.

"But even if Mickey was involved, why come after her now? Revenge for five years ago now that he was going down? Did he think he'd get Karla back?" Jo raced through every question in her head.

Hanson broke in with an idea, decided on not wasting time. "Ok, I'm going to head over to Mickey's transit office, take a stab there and see if any of the employees know anything else about this guy?" Jo nodded in agreement. "Oh and sorry, Jo," Hanson said, lowering his voice and putting a hand on the detective's shoulder. "I know you were looking forward to a day off, no murder, no wisecrack from Henry."

"Actually, I kind of missed him." I pretended not to hear Jo's reply, but smiled to myself. Certainly not as much as I missed her. Compared to Detective Hanson, she was a much less messier eater of fast food, even if only because she didn't litter her car with the varied fillings in her gyros.

"So," Jo seemed to read my train of thought on Hanson after he left. "Who's the better partner?" She bumped my arm with her shoulder and flashed her eyes at me.

Standing straight, I chose my answer carefully, though it was entirely true. "You know Detective, having spent several hours as Hanson's better right hand man, I'm inclined to believe you are the only partner, one of the only people in my life who out-stands even the highest regard I may have for others."

"Wow, that's, sweet," Jo said with content. "I was thinking you'd give me something on Hanson to be envious about."

"Don't worry, Jo, you're far from having any competition." I held her gaze as her happy smile turned timid, but she didn't look away.

"Hey, guys," Lucas' voice unexpectedly made us break our silence as he rushed through the precinct to Jo's desk, papers in hand.

"I just got the coroner's report on Mickey," he exclaimed, out of breath. Lucas was a naturally excitable person, used to concocting outrageous visions of a victim's demise and always stealing in names or foreign ideas as a probable cause for their death. Today however, his excitement seemed more fueled by anxiety.

What are the results?" I asked in lively anticipation to be soon enlightened on something likely enough to explain at least one of the cases we were solving.

"That's, that's just it," a wide-eyed Lucas, stammered. "They called to say that the body was a negative match to that of Mickey Eastwood. I told them I already got a positive confirmation this morning, but no one from that office ever called here until now." Jo and I exchanged stunned glances. "Someone fixed Mickey's I.D. results," Lucas spoke with haste as he increasingly realized the importance of his revelation. "The DNA test was swapped."

"Oh my God." Jo tried to compose herself. "That means that..."

"Mickey is very much alive." I finished her sentence when the door to Lieutenant Reece's office swung open.

"Jo." Reece approached from her office; her grave face showing she already knew what Lucas has just unfolded to us. "The State Federal Bureau of Grants has reported that Mickey Eastwood and all of his employees at TransTrack knew of the failed subway plan since they began concealing their work from the government. They've been building on lies for years. Nine months ago, there was a leak of their potential embezzlement; two federal officials were found murdered before any of their offenses could be brought to light. Mickey, it is believed was responsible for clearing the aftermath quickly without flawing the company." Despite the severity of her news, Reece spoke with as much poise as ever. "This is a dangerous situation. The publicity Mickey is about to receive has once again opened investigation into TransTrack and even prompted the notion that both he and Karla may have disappeared after involvement together. I believe the TransTrack division has now reached its last line and I doubt they'll stop from eliminating any person that crosses them now. Mickey's entire enterprise is falling and everyone is scouring for any money they can hide. Anyone attempting to interfere or obtain any information, is now more at risk for danger than before."

It was quiet in the precinct as Lieutenant Reece's words hung in the air. Even Lucas, for whom it was far easier to process medically associated information was struck by the burden of conflict about to burst into international news. "We have to get to Hanson," Jo declared first, in a panic. "We have to get a hold of him now. He went to Mickey's office. He's probably almost there where he'll fall into everything Mickey was trying to hide." Jo grabbed her car keys as the threat to her partner's life dawned on her. "Hanson's about to walk into a trap."

***********

"Damn it, Hanson." Jo dialled the detective's phone again the moment it hit voicemail. Lights flashing and siren blaring, I clutched the passenger door of the police car and prayed that Jo wouldn't take down any tourists who might j-walk into the street. Police commotion in the city was common, as was breaking traffic law, but Jo was increasingly surpassing the limit of both of those. "Come on." Jo listened to the empty ring, just waiting to hear his voice. Hanson indeed was headed for a desperate end-of money, of identities, but most critically of all, of himself.

***

The large lot of the no-expenses-spared building that housed TransTrack was empty just like the first appearance of the business itself. Slowing to a stop, Jo paused in the car and thought for a moment before stepping out onto the pavement. The sunset had lost itself in the row of thick clouds creeping in on the horizon, so the dark windows offered no glimpse inside beyond the lamonated posters advertising a grand vision for public transport's future. A sleek, white subway carriage seemed to speed from the poster into the street.

"It's his car," Jo said, drawing out her gun as we approached the front entrance to the building carefully. The rear tires of Detective Hanson's police cruiser were shot through and I suddenly realised what a mistake our forced entry could be for him. "Henry, don't move," Jo advised tensely, aiming at the silver lock of the glass door. Yet, I didn't listen. Tearing the gun from Jo's hands, I let if fall to the ground to stop her, but Mike Hanson was Jo's partner, and I knew one thing, that she was not going to walk away, be it her to test fate alone.

The shock, followed by anger wanted to make Jo force me back into the car, so she could go at her wild plan alone; still, she knew why I had stopped her. Now lost of any idea how to even know whether her partner was alive, she turned to look at me. Lieutenant Reece had asked Jo to signal for backup when we arrived at the business, but convinced that an arsenal of police vehicles would only worsen the standoff, she opposed to making the call. 

She didn't ask for the reply I gave her, but did know she had asked, by looking at me, for me to say them. 

"Stop, Jo. They know we are here and if they are watching us, we must surrender now." I stayed frozen where I was. 

Breathing fast, Jo kicked her gun across the pavement, stepping back to her ready stance. As if waiting for our submission, a white Mercedes convertible snapped up the loose pebbles beneath its wheels until pulled up behind Jo's cruiser. Instantly, I remembered it clearly from the photographs the private investigators had sent us; it was Mickey's.

"Henry, you sure as hell better be right," Jo said through grated teeth as the Mercedes' black roof slunk away and the driver's door opened. 

A light switched on in the office complex behind us and my terrified eyes grew wide when a tall figure stepped from the running car and strode towards us evenly in the headlights' glow. Only when reaching us, could I fully see the tears in Karla Mathis' anxious eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, I didn't quite expect this turn myself; for Karla to confront Jo and Henry in tears. 
> 
> But now, is Hanson is alright and what on earth is Mickey up to? Jo's a little exposed here without her gun and time is racing. 
> 
> (Naturally, I also could not successfully publish a story without at least a tease of Jenry/Mortinez...)


	3. Star Catchers

There was no gunfire. No altercation or demands. Not even a word said aloud. At first, there was only silence as the three of us stood in the convertible's front spotlights.

"He's not here, your partner," Karla said in a knowing tone that strangely made me believe her, though I was certain I was alone in that. I had begun to doubt her before, but I noticed something in her manner. There was a hopelessness to her voice, a sound that she was looking for something too. "They're both gone, Mickey and your partner." The blonde woman nodded at the now fully illuminated office. "The rest of them are waiting for you to destroy them. To un-spin every little lie Mickey fed them. Your partner was lucky he met Mickey here before he questioned his colleagues for leads. The team Mickey worked with isn't quite as loyal to one another as you are. They're clearing out each other's power now and they'd have done so with your partner by now too." The flattened tires on Detective Hanson's car were a testament that he was not expected to report back on what he discovered here. 

"Tell me, Karla," Jo said without dropping her guard. "Where are they? Where is Mickey?" she demanded, but her rough state kept the woman silent.

"Karla, we know you have a daughter, she's a beautiful little girl," I said, peacefully attempting to break her. I put my finger on her blank stare; it was the look that only another parent could recognize. "If something has happened to her, if you're afraid that it's her who's in danger, let us help you."

Karla ignored my offer, but responded, "If you wanted to help my daughter, you would have never gone looking for me."

"Please, we both just want the same thing, to find Mickey," Jo wagered, taking on a more gathered tone, "and I promise we'll get you back your baby girl."

"You're right, Detective. We do want the same thing," Karla agreed. "Just not for the same reason. You have no idea who Mickey is." She shook her head with a smile. The headlights shone on a strip of white cloth on her skin and I noticed a bandage winding up her left hand, where she'd cut herself on the broken dishes in her apartment. She had abandoned everything. She just never had the will to actually run.

"Do they know?" In one swift move, Jo suddenly grabbed her gun from the ground and pointed with it at the building. Desperate not to give up, Jo wondered if Karla had deceived her and that Hanson was still inside. All the lights that had come on behind her meant everyone was watching. When no answer came from Karla, Jo took a step away from us both. Aiming at Jo again, with no choice but to risk my life for her, I prepared to give up my immortal secret to someone's sure bullet, when blue and red flashes reflected on the glass doors of the office and the directing voices of police backup called out to one another. Jo may not have listened to Lieutenant Reece, but her boss was a woman of honor, one to join forces with her detectives when the dire moment struck. Surely, Lieutenant Reece herself along with a fleet of policemen blocked off the entire building. There would be no escape for the greedy employees inside, who even now, sat on their broken fortunes and hoped that by some miracle, they would make away with them.

"Listen, you either talk to me or you can go with them." Jo used her last opportunity to reach the truth before Lieutenant Reece took hold of the suspended revelation. 

Eyes skipping between Jo and I, Karla found the will to at last surrender the truth. "He wanted me to disappear. After everything I found out about him; he learned how suddenly I was lurched into his con. I left a good life with Jason, I left because of him. He swore he had fixed himself, but he'd never set himself right. Mickey hid behind his lies, but then so," Karla gasped for a breath, "so did I."

Listening, it occurred to me that Karla had hired the investigators to track her former husband; all the photographs and the surveillance to confirm who he was. The only question she never answered was why. 

"Mickey wanted me to meet him here, one last time before I left, but when I saw your car, I knew he'd be gone. See I don't know where he is, if I did I would be there now." Tears glistened in Karla's green eyes; just the same hue as her daughter's. "Mickey didn't take your partner by force, but because he had no choice. The police would ruin the one thing that made him regret every mistake he'd made." 

"Detective Martinez," Lieutenant Reece called Jo over when she saw the detective replace her gun again and step away from a crying Karla. I wanted to console the lost woman, but turned an ear to Reece. "I just received a tip that Mickey Eastwood was seen entering the subway at Union Square Station. He had a little girl with him." Lieutenant Reece urged us to leave. "There was no report on Detective Hanson, but I recommend we begin our search there."

***

The ring of Jo's phone in her pocket sounded through the car and she tore her hand away from the steering wheel to fetch it in her trench coat pocket. In this tense situation, I wondered if I'd have been the better driver.

"Hanson?!" Jo exclaimed into the speaker and turned up the volume on her phone. "Hanson?" 

"Jo, I'm fine, I'm fine," the raving voice of Detective Hanson replied. "Mickey decided I needed to join him on his escape, made me promise I wouldn't tag him after he bolted." Overall, Hanson sounded rather exhilarated about the entire scene, at least now that he was spared. "God, I hope you didn't rile up Karen and the boys. They probably think I'm dead by now." Hanson worried about his wife and children, to whom he would rather have confessed of his poor diet now, than leave them on a string, not knowing of his whereabouts.

"They wouldn't be the only one's to think that," Jo's voice was overwhelmed with relief at the sound of his voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Union Square Station," Hanson confirmed Reece's statement. "Mickey Eastwood just sent the little girl he brought with him on the North 6 Line subway track, alone. I was following too far back to hear everything, but he told her something about counting to four as she got on." Hanson couldn't make sense of words he'd caught, but he figured I might. "I've got eyes on Mickey, but he didn't follow the girl. Not sure why he'd let her go."

"Count to four..four stops," I immediately deduced. "Mickey wanted her to get off four stops from Union Square. It's a drop off. He's leaving her to be collected by someone else!"

"Karla?" Jo was confused. "But she didn't know where he'd taken her daughter. If she did, she'd have been there." Jo swerved in the traffic and bumped her horn. Apparently, the signal already blaring down the block wasn't enough. "Ok, Henry and I are headed towards you. We're crossing at 3rd and 12th."

"No I've got it covered here, Jo. Reece already has half of the NYPD on Mickey's back. We've got him." Detective Hanson insisted. "Listen to Henry, Jo, cause he better be right. C'mon, go pick up the kid."

"Ok, ok." Jo glanced over at me. I'd squinted my eyes shut for a moment, my mind tracing the underground routes and where they crossed.

"If she's on the 6 Line track, the fourth stop will be at 33rd and Park Avenue, just one shy of Grand Central Station." I calculated. "It's quarter to six. The train will be packed with commuters. We'll be chancing it to find her in time amongst such a crowd."

"Maybe not entirely," Hanson said as Jo switched lanes to head north on Lexington. "I'm sending you a snapshot of Mickey and the girl, so you know what to look for. She's got on a pink sweater."

"Thanks, Hanson," Jo responded, "and be careful. I don't want to be chasing you again." Hanson convinced her again he no longer under pursuit and left her with another boost of hope to our success.

Finally paying attention to the road, Jo passed me the photo on her phone that Hanson had snapped of Mickey at the station. Mickey looked nothing short of what I expected in a collared shirt and tie, certainly nothing like a fleeing felon, but my attention focused just below his rolled up shirt sleeves. On his arm, under the bend of his elbow stood out the tattoo of a flower heart. In its center, a simple name, 'Lucy', was etched in black on his skin. I'd hardly have guessed a proper, clean shaven man like him would commit to such a tattoo. Beside him, a small, blonde-haired girl stayed close, little fingers tightly clinging to his hand. If not for the dire situation, they'd have appeared like a father and his daughter returning home from an exciting day in the city.

"Well," Jo questioned when I realized I hadn't said a word about the slightly blurred photograph. 

"A pink sweater and black leggings," I replied with a pointed description of the girl. I said nothing of the bold tattoo on Mickey's arm to her. After all, he'd been caught and it shouldn't have mattered that I payed so much attention to the name on his skin.

***********

The subway stairs at 33rd and Park were a maze of pushing, confused tourists, bantering over creased city guides and evening commuters trying to shove past their indecisive wonder.

"Henry, wait!" Jo shouted when I piled from the car before it even stopped. "I'm coming with you." The street corner was streaming with a frenzy of even more people-hailing taxis or laden with shopping bags. Jo searched for a place along the curb where she could park.

"We don't have time, Detective," I shouted back at her, intent on going ahead. "I promise I won't be terribly rash in my haste." I slammed the car door before Jo had time to dispute me.

Packing in with the rest of the crowd, I pressed down the stairs, stumbling onto the platform just as a subway train left the station. My eyes darted around the crowd frantically waiting to see her, but the throngs of people were a maze; if difficult for me to pass through, unimaginably so, for a five year old child.

The low, smooth hum of music pulled me out of the crowd. Moving towards it, I slowly approached a row of benches, where a woman dressed in a slender, azure blue dress played a cello. Absorbed on the sound of every not, she was entirely oblivious to the hundreds of stories and destinations that every person on the platform was attempting to recover and to reach. Set out of the way, the seats were mostly empty, but like a flower against the bluest sky of the cellist's flowing dress, a burst of pink made me freeze.

"Lucy," I said without thinking; just loudly enough to be heard by those around me. On the last bench, closest to the playing musician, a little girl stopped kicking her dangling legs and turned her head. Lush, blonde hair braided loosely, she clutched in her hands, a stuffed giraffe, eyes widely following the strangers who, so far, paid no notice to her.

"May I join you, pretty mademoiselle?" I asked with a gentle smile, sitting down beside a quiet Lucy to wait Jo. She eyed me carefully, but I pretended like it was no matter. Instead, I drew out my gold pocket watch and snapped the clasp open. The familiar sound that haunted me every day was as soothing as the heartbeat of a loved one.

Rounding her lips into a perfect 'o', Lucy leaned towards my sleeve, eager to see what the shiny, ticking object in my hand was. 

"Would you like to hold it?" I asked, gently setting it in her hand when she smiled. "It's counting the time to itself, but sometimes I can't help but sneaking a glance at how much has gone by." I grinned at the honesty of my words while she dangled the pocket watch like a pendulum on its gold link chain. "Are you waiting for someone?" I encouraged an answer from her. 

"My mama," Lucy said ever so quietly, as if it were only a secret we were to share.

Recalling Mickey's floral tattoo once more, the pieces came together. It was Lucy that Karla was waiting for at his office, Mickey surrendering his daughter in his ruin, hoping that from their family, at least two might manage to evade the offenses Karla spoke of, that he so regretted.

Transfixed on the swinging watch I only raised my head when the cello music stopped, to see Jo admiring Lucy and I from the opposite end of the benches.

"Wow, Henry, you really do have a way with kids," Jo met me with a smile when I rose and came over to her. She watched Lucy watch us, ever as glued to the seat she had taken. "Did you and Abigail never think of having any of your own?"

"We tried," I sighed, remembering my beautiful late wife. "But I guess fate had other things in store."

"Mm," Jo grunted in agreement. "Yeah, for me too." She'd had no idea, when marrying her now late husband, Sean, what the future would bring her; the grief it would not spare her of. It was in these unexpected moments that both she and I remembered; remembered a way that might have been. "Now, we better get this one home." Jo put her thoughts aside and turned with a smile at Lucy. Endearingly, the little girl comforted her stuffed giraffe and cradled him in her arms safely.

"Lucy," I enlightened the detective on the pretty girl's name. "Lucy Eastwood." Jo cocked her head in utter surprise. My words were a sudden revelation she'd never thought of, but I knew without a confession, the entire truth so simply hidden behind the mark of Mickey's tattoo.

Lucy was still baffled by the two stranger's attention to her, waiting only to see her mother, Karla. Hearing the turn of conversation between us, she slid further back on her seat and held her toy closer.

With a gentle approach, Jo unclipped the police badge from her belt and cupping it in her hand, knelt in front of Lucy. "Hi there, Lucy, I'm Detective Jo and my friend Henry and I are going to take you to your mommy." Lucy shook her blonde-haired head in a resistant no, when Jo turned her thought at the glass-eyed giraffe Lucy so cared for. 

"Do you know why giraffe's have such long necks?" Detective Martinez asked the little girl, who ran her fingers up the toy animal's soft neck. Lucy shook her head with a shy, but curious expression. "Well, because every night they stand up tall and reach all the way up to the sky to play with the stars." In awe, Lucy threw her head back, hoping that the rounded subway ceiling would open up to a sky filled with glimmering stars. Her innocent stare made me look up too before my eyes slowly returned to meet those of my partner. Jo smiled warmly and held out a hand to Lucy until hesitantly, she hopped off the bench and took it. "Star catchers," Jo said, admiring Lucy's favourite toy. "That's what I always called them."

***********

Under the long rod, lit ceiling lamps, a defenseless Mickey Eastwood sat opposite of Detective Hanson in the city precinct's interrogation room. Collected from Union Square Station, he spared himself the extra violence in his arrest by attesting the truth about the surrendered little girl to the detective in his arrest.

"Is Lucy alright?" was the first question from his mouth after Hanson conferred with Lieutenant Reece on Jo and I's success at finding her. Mickey hadn't rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, so he lingered his dark eyes over the etching of her name on his skin.

"Your daughter's fine," Hanson replied simply, eager to reach the more pressing matters of Mickey's dubious affairs. "I can't say the same for you after the fine list of charges racked up against you and your company's doings. Tell me, are any of your associates going to stand up for you in court when you're tried for embezzlement, fraud, false representation, covering up the murders of two state officials?" Hanson smirked with a tap of his pen on the metal table between them. "Add to that substituting critical DNA evidence, child endangerment, and unlawful restraint of a police officer. That sound about right to you?"

Mickey linked his handcuffed arms into a fist on the table. "Six months ago as our project plummeted south, Karla showed up at my door, saying she'd left Jason and that she had something to tell me." Mickey rubbed his forehead like he was fighting to remember the details, but I knew it was pain that hit him. "I knew she'd married Jason in a lightning fast, blind recovery. That in the four years of marriage with me, she couldn't have spent them falling in love with another man. She only walked out because I was the one who fell, for one wrong business after another." He never denied the charges Hanson had placed against him and it was evident, they were only the cusp of what were certainly many more. "I can't believe she lasted with him for almost six years, but I figured it was better that way. Then suddenly, there she was telling me the daughter she and Jason had only eight months into their new life, was mine. Wanted us to be a family again." Hanson hadn't quite overcome the shock of the entire unfolding of events today and he looked almost sympathetic as he sat deep in his chair, listening to Mickey, who's hands now trembled slightly. "I still remember the first day I spent with Lucy. We went to the Bronx zoo together. I bought her this little stuffed giraffe and she wouldn't stop going on about how funny it was that sea lions roar like real lions do." 

"Did Karla know about your latest fraud with TransTrack or did it run in your relationship to keep secrets?" Hanson fixed his posture.

Mickey shook his head, the sound of the company franchise like a bitter pill he was forced to swallow every day. "No, but it was her who set the feds off. She confronted me two days ago when I stopped by her apartment, said she'd hired a private eye and that they'd discovered something sour about my division of the company. She was so angry."

XXX

"He'd betrayed me again. How was I ever supposed to trust him with Lucy's future?" Karla's voice broke as she faced a tired Jo in the adjacent interrogation room. "What was I doing, thinking he'd changed and letting Lucy stay with him? But he had so much more to give her. Anything she wanted. He even fixed her the sunniest room in his entire, three bedroom apartment, so she woke up every morning to look at Central Park and could make shadow puppets on her walls in the sunset."

"New cars, a midtown penthouse." Jo listed back what she gathered. "Weren't you suspicious of where all that money was pouring in from?" 

Karla's silver band bracelet clanked on the table in front of her. Jo had spared her of handcuffs in her moment of honesty. "Mickey told me about TransTrack right away, how big of a deal this was. Just enough to set me away from any doubt. When I finally challenged him with the countering evidence, he told me to take Lucy and disappear. To start somewhere where the name Eastwood wouldn't point fingers our way. He promised to catch up with the two of us, fetched a getaway play, but you..." she paused.

"Found him," Detective Martinez finished. Eyes staring blankly out the dark window of the cold room, she would have denied it, but there was a second, where she wished they had gotten away.

XXX

"If I'd known all along about Lucy, I'd never have dug this hole," Mickey continued to admit. He'd decided from the second Detective Hanson had slapped the cuffs on him that he would leave no thought unspoken of. "If Karla hadn't hired those private eyes, but I can't blame her. If I'd been honest from the start with her, not been so selfish, it could've all been different now."

"You thought you could just make a twenty million dollar con go away..." Hanson leaned back in his chair and tipped the capped edge of his pen.

Mickey smiled sorrily. "Mistakes can never be outrun, but I wanted, at least for my daughter to outrun mine."

***

"What'll happen to Lucy?' Hanson asked, his fatherly concern evident by the uneasy tone in his voice as both he and Jo met a listening Lieutenant Reece and I outside the confession rooms.

"The court may still approve her to to live with her mother, but only in time," Lieutenant Reece said truthfully. "Unfortunately, Karla will have to be investigated on a number of potential charges."

"Geez, what a mess, I'll say," Hanson shook his head. "Isn't it kinda late to feel bad about it now?" 

"He loved his daughter," I said without a thought. "Having a child has the power to change a person's entire life." Lieutenant Reece raised a brow at me, but I gestured my head at Hanson, who with two adorable, boisterous boys, backed my words.

"That it sure does," Hanson said with a deep sigh. "I can't remember the last time I had the couch all to myself for at least an hour. One hour, can't a man get some time to himself." Jo grinned. Hanson loved those boys more than any precious hour of sleep that he tried to muster into his day. Returning home to them was the incentive he never lost when he pointed a gun at his suspects. 

"Hey, speaking of kids and family, it's Karen's famous chicken parm night. Why don't you guys join us?" Detective Hanson offered. The hamburger he'd devoured for breakfast had long worn off in the day's rapid unfolding.

Lieutenant Reece was frank with her answer. "Only if it's paired with a bottle of 1984 Pinot Noir."

"1984 Noir, I can't promise," Hanson came back at her, "but an unforgettable dinner and a reminder of why I don't take vacations with the kids, I can." His boys were a handful to be minded for sure. "Henry?" Detective Hanson posed at me, greatly doubting I'd agree since it was in my habit to avoid any social gathering. "I'm pretty sure after today, a little more of my company couldn't hurt you, Doc." 

In the silent moment of anticipation, it was Jo's expression I couldn't help looking at. Her eyes were hopeful and she looked as if she were about to speak for me, while ushering me out before I changed my mind. 

"Oh, why not, Detective? Family is the best we've got in this world, related or not." I implied my close friendship with the three people surrounding me. 

"He-hey!" Hanson rejoiced with as much enthusiasm as my fellow M.E. assistant, Lucas usually did. Tomorrow, he would be ever so distressed to learn I had attended a close occasion without him.

"On one condition," I stopped them all in place by the elevator. Jo's eyes grew wide and Lieutenant Reece prepared for another bizarre proposition. "That we'll all be sure to indulge in another round of, Detective, your band's exemplary repertoire of karaoke."

"Just for you, Doc," Hanson laughed, slapping me on the back to confirm that our partnership had now graduated past a spotted understanding. "Just for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this was a pretty wild end with a lot to tie up, but it did so with the promise of another round of Hanson belting out karaoke, so all's good. ;) 
> 
> And at last there's a face to the title of this story...Lucy. It's a shame Mickey fell into bad dealings because he really did cherish his daughter when Karla told him about her. 
> 
> I so loved writing that simple, but sweet moment between Jo and Lucy at the subway station. We had a hint of motherly Jo in 'The King of Columbus Circle', but seeing her comforting a frightened girl in such an almost unexpected way, was something Jo had naturally in herself. 
> 
> Since the theme to this ficathon was to feature New York's Finest, I decided to wind all three of them in one by one, giving them each a role in solving this case, but also bringing the precinct's best together in the end. Lieutenant Reece, Jo, and Mike are after all their greatest with their support and loyalty to each other. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed my short detective case fic! I am more than surely reading away all of the other's in this ficathon.
> 
> ~Lara


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